Chapter 02

Atticus made his first call of the day outside of the facility’s garage. There was no smoking area anywhere on the grounds, so he had created one just outside the opening of the garages. Margaret never came out here, so he figured it was probably the best spot for it. Even when they’d lived together, she had hated his smoking. Now that she hated him too, he doubted he’d get much more leeway where his main vice was concerned.

Sitting in an office chair he’d smuggled out of the building, Atticus dialed Allen’s number from the Wynters' Tech approved phone Margaret had given him and everyone else on the team. Supposedly these would keep their communications out of unwanted hands, but Atticus just found the new phone to be annoying and hard to use.

“Atticus?” Allen said on the other end of the line.

“Yeah it’s me Allen. Margaret wants an update on how things are going.”

“Not much to tell,” Allen said. It sounded like he was in a car. “Gate is deep in the Everglades so we’ll need to get boats or canoes or something to get out there. No telling how close to the crossover point these things will stay between then and now. I should know by sundown whether we’ll be moving on them today or tomorrow. Not poking around in the swamps at night.”

“Whatever you think is best,” Atticus said.

“Should I call you or Margaret when it’s time?” Allen asked.

“Call me,” Atticus chuckled. “Makes me feel useful.”

“Alright,” Allen said awkwardly. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon Atticus. Hang in there.”

Atticus hung up the phone in a rush. A few weeks ago he would not have gotten a hang in there from Allen Becker. To know so many of the others pitied him was nauseating, truly vomit inducing, but at least his next call wouldn’t be more of the same.

Dialing the next number on his list, he waited.

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“What is it?” Jomo said into the phone’s receiver. He did not enjoy talking to Atticus Daniels. The man was a pompous fool and had treated Margaret badly to boot. As far as Jomo was concerned, the man was dirt.

“Margaret wanted me to check in with everyone, see how things are going.”

“No change since our first call,” Jomo said, staring out at the frigid lake before him. “Just freezing my ass off here with Kevin.”

“I figured as much. Stay warm out there and get in touch if you need to.”

Jomo hung up the phone and spit out of the hide he and Hughes were nestled in.

“Not a big fan of old Daniels I see,” Hughes laughed as Jomo put the phone back in his jacket pocket.

“He is not a good man,” Jomo said. He was not going to get into his reasons for disliking Daniels with this stranger. Hughes was tolerable enough, but Margaret’s business was her own and nothing Jomo would tell to the likes of Kevin Hughes.

“He’s definitely a prick,” Hughes said as he put another lip in. The smell of the chewing tobacco was disgusting, but Jomo had tolerated far worse. “Should have made him come with us. I’d love to see his dumpy ass try to climb up that ladder.”

The ladder Hughes was speaking of was really just a bunch of boards nailed to the base of a large tree overlooking the river. The hide belonged to a hunting buddy of Kevin’s and was the perfect spot to keep an eye out for whatever might come through the gate they were monitoring.

According to the machine the engineers had cobbled together, the gate was located just above the lake’s surface, directly in front of their hide. In the hours he had spent surveilling the area, he had tried to see if there was any visible sign of the gate’s presence. So far, nothing. Just gray sky and dark clouds.

He and Kevin had been chosen for this unappealing job because of their expertise in wilderness tracking. Kevin was some sort of outdoorsman, an off the grid type from what Jomo had heard, and the man’s skills seemed up to par. Kevin must have assumed Jomo’s background was similar, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He had deflected the other man’s questions about his past until he had given up and silence had become the norm between them.

The reality was that Jomo was not a tracker of animals, but of men. He’d been born in Kenya, at least that was what his name suggested, but had found himself in the Congo by age nine. There he had been forced into a type of slavery at the hands of a local rebel group. He had been a child soldier, plied with drugs and alcohol one minute, fighting for his life in a haze the next. This early part of his life was a blur to him and thankfully he had few concrete memories of his years in the jungle camps of his captors.

By the time he was seventeen he had started to find himself again. He secretly began to forgo the alcohol and drugs the others partook in constantly and started devising a plan to escape. It really hadn’t been that hard when it came down to it. He had always been smart and a good soldier, or at least they’d told him he was often enough, and all he’d done was go on patrol one day and never come back. He’d eventually found his way to one of the larger cities and made contact with UN troops in the area. They’d given him minimal help, but enough that he was able to make his way to Ghana by the time he was twenty one, leaving his old life behind, at least for a time.

In Ghana he’d grown into the man he was today. First he’d done all he could to find out who he was, where he’d come from and how he’d gotten to the Congo in the first place. This search had ended up giving him far more questions than answers. Tracing his origins without any documentation or even his own last name, or his parents names, was next to impossible. The people who had helped him, librarians and social workers mostly, had been the ones to tell him that he was likely from Kenya based on his name and age. Unfortunately, they’d informed him that learning how he’d gotten to the Congo was something that would probably forever remain a mystery. His gut told him he had been sold, either by his parents or someone else, but he tried not to dwell on it too much now. He’d escaped and that was all that mattered. Well that and whatever his new future held for him.

This part of his journey of self discovery, the man he planned on being, had consumed him in the wake of accepting that he would never fully know his own past. It hadn’t taken long to discover that his story was far from unique and that his home-continent was full of groups like the one that had used him to kill and sow chaos among the poor rural populations that lived outside the major cities. As sobering as this information had been, he had been equally encouraged to learn of all of the different groups that were combating these marauders head on.

Over the next seven years Jomo found himself traveling all over Africa as he joined various organizations in their attempts to beat back the terrorists, rebels and mercenaries that plagued so many places around the continent. Some of these groups were government sponsored, some were spur of the moment acts of revenge or retribution and still others were private ventures paid for by those wanting family members returned or their ravaged villages avenged. Sometimes his colleagues were well trained, other times he’d watched them slaughtered as he escaped into the brush.

During this time in his life, he gained both a cynicism for his chosen path and a reputation as a man who could be trusted in a field full of men all too often known for their lack of loyalty to anything but money or ambition. Many of the men with his skills and background became corrupted by these influences over time, but Jomo had never found a need for such things. Life on the road was cheap enough and having grown up with nothing, he had never developed a taste for material possessions or acclimated to excess. This reputation and temperament had set him down the path that had eventually led him to Margaret, the best thing that had ever happened to him; his light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel.

Margaret hadn’t been the first Westerner to seek out his services based on his growing reputation, far from it, but she’d left an impression unlike any of the others. For starters, she hadn’t sent a proxy to meet with him, she’d shown up in Accra herself. Usually when he met Westerners to discuss business, especially whites, he could see their discomfort at his demeanor and their surroundings almost immediately.

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Margaret had been different.

She’d questioned him thoroughly and without glossing over any of the nastier bits of his past endeavors. What had won him over in the end was that she had come to Africa to help the people, not for profit or exploitation. She’d awarded him easily the most lucrative contract of his career up to that point, and for three months he had worked with her security detail as both a guide and added muscle while they met with local leaders in the outskirts of what most would consider quote unquote civilized Africa.

After his initial contract had ended, he hadn’t heard from her or anyone from Wynters' Tech in an official capacity for almost a year, though Margaret had checked in with him via email from time to time. During that time Jomo had taken a good hard look at his life and decided to choose his work more carefully than he had before his time working under the Wynters Tech umbrella. He did a few rescues, mostly successful, and some protection work for a group of Jesuit missionaries working in Niger. The pay had been subpar, but the money from his Wynters' Tech contract had kept him going and allowed him this newfound selectivity in assignments.

Then, roughly a year later, Margaret’s people had gotten in contact with him and he found himself back in Accra meeting with her in a hotel bar. There she had explained that she would be investing heavily in a number of projects in Western and Central Africa and that she wanted him to be in charge of her security teams at various facilities and project locations. Almost all of the areas she planned to operate in were fairly dangerous, at least sporadically, and he’d been daunted by the sheer scope of what she was asking him to oversee. Still, something about this woman had captured him long ago and he had agreed to a three year contract in the middle six figures that had changed his life forever. Once his three year contract had ended, he had been taken on full time as the head of Margaret’s personal security detail and currently oversaw all Wynters’ Tech facilities globally.

He had never looked back.

The last decade or so he had spent stateside, though he made trips back to Africa every so often. His day to day had mellowed considerably during this time, but he had a feeling that was about to change. He hadn’t seen any of these creatures yet, not counting the Raven and the Prince of course, but he’d heard members of the original group tell their stories many times and he was worried about what was heading their way. Even sitting here now, staring at a gate he knew was there but couldn’t see, he felt an odd sense of dread. It was a familiar feeling, if not a pleasant one.

“What are the odds this thing never opens and we sit here til March?” Hughes said after a long while, nestling deep into his coat as he spat putrid tobacco muck out of the hide.

“We won’t be here that long,” Jomo said, still gazing out over the lake. “Something is coming. I can feel it.”

Hughes said nothing to this, but raised his eyebrows skeptically.

Jomo was thankful for the silence and ignored him. He was being paid to keep watch, not make friends, and the sooner these people understood that, the better.

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“Hello? Atticus?” Olivia said as she lifted her new phone to her ear.

“Yeah it’s me Liv? How are things going down south?”

“They’re going I guess,” Olivia responded as she stepped out onto the small concrete slab that served as the balcony of their cheap motel room. She had been holed up in this little shit hole for a few days now and it was getting old. Benjamin wasn’t an awful roommate, but Hayden was becoming unbearable. “We hiked out to the crossover site yesterday. Nothing to see but mud and trees.”

“Anything popping up in the local news?” Atticus asked. This had been a useful tool the last time they were hunting one of these things, but they’d run into a snag on that front out here in Louisiana.

“Well they’d need local news out here for that to be the case,” Olivia said. “There is no town paper and any sort of news-based television has nothing to do with anywhere around us. It’s like a dead-zone Atticus. Nothing but swamp, water and highway.”

“So what’s the plan then?” Atticus asked.

“Well there isn’t much to our west, but if we head east down the highway there’s a little township we could poke around in. Hayden thinks it’ll be a bust, but Noah’s willing to give it a go. I figure we may as well try. No sense leaving until we’re sure there’s nothing here.”

“Try to keep a low profile,” Atticus said. “We were lucky none of us drew any unwanted attention last time. Let’s try and keep it that way.”

“Sure thing,” Olivia said. “Things going alright back at the homestead? Margaret not treating you too badly?”

“Oh Joe went and pissed her off nice and early this morning so I escaped the worst of it,” Atticus chuckled. Olivia was happy to hear him laugh. He’d been an absolute mess since Jack had died and Wynters’ constant attacks, even the unintentional ones she managed to sprinkle into almost every sentence, weren’t helping. There was something between those two, but she knew better than to pry. It would all come out eventually if they stayed this close long enough and she wasn’t exactly curious, just concerned for her old friend. “Call me when you’ve made your run into town,” Atticus said. “Margaret doesn’t think a false reading is in the cards so stay sharp. You all are there to gather information. Leave the gunslinging to Becker and the rest of the gorillas.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Olivia said. “Just take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye Liv.”

“Goodbye Atticus.”

Olivia hung up the phone, but stayed out on the balcony. The view from here was unlike any she’d seen before. Nothing but swamp, tall grass and water for miles. Maybe a tree or two sporadically in the mix, but not more than a few. It was lush, yet desolate. Serene, but foreboding. She almost thought she could live here. Almost.

The sliding door screeched painfully as it opened behind her. “Atticus?” Noah’s voice asked.

“Yeah,” Olivia said as she turned to face him.

“Anything about Allen or the Michigan gate?” he asked as he stepped aside to let her pass through.

“Shit, I forgot to ask,” she said as she entered the tiny motel room and flopped onto one of the twin beds.

“He would have mentioned something if anything had happened yet,” Hayden said from his place on the second twin bed. He and Noah had been sharing it, much to her amusement. Neither seemed thrilled with the arrangement. “What did he want?”

“Just checking in at her majesty’s request,” Olivia said as she changed the channel on the surprisingly nice television from weather to MTV. She didn’t watch much tv, but it amused her to subject Noah and Hayden to awful programming just because they thought she enjoyed it.

“Still haven’t warmed up to the ice queen yet?” Hayden laughed, referring to Wynters.

“I don’t like the whole uber-bitch act she’s so committed to,” Olivia responded, “but as long as she signs my checks and doesn’t aim that shit my way, we’ll be just fine.”

“You two are crazy,” Noah said, sitting down in one of the odd plastic chairs that sat in front of the world’s smallest desk. “Margaret Wynters is a visionary. Once in a generation type genius. You can’t expect people on that level of the human spectrum to behave like a normal person. They aren’t. Whatever happened between her, Atticus, Jack and the priest is their business. Knowing Atticus though, I’m guessing he earned whatever she’s been sending his way.”

“Maybe,” Olivia conceded, “but the man just watched his best friend die during an operation he was in charge of. Atticus is tough, but he isn’t made of stone. He might seem ok, but something’s off with him.”

“Hate to break it to you darling, but something was always off with that guy. I’m with Benjamin. Whatever he did to piss her off was probably a class A dick move. If he isn’t going to buck up about it, neither should we,” Hayden said.

Olivia said nothing to this. Hayden loved to argue and she loved to deprive him of the sport. Noah had been slow to figure this out, but even he had stopped giving Hayden openings for dissent or difference of opinion. Hayden was resourceful though; he’d found plenty of other ways to get under his companions' skin.

“Atticus does think we should go into town though,” Olivia said after a few minutes of completely mindless television. “Wants us to keep a low profile.”

“So we shouldn’t drive through town firing our guns in the air?” Hayden said sarcastically.

“Probably not,” Olivia sighed. His humor was as bad as the arguing.

“Something to do at least,” Noah said. “Not like there’s much ground to cover. Not in town anyway.”

On that they were all in agreement. The area they were in was in the southernmost reaches of the state, a good twenty miles outside of Houma which was itself south of New Orleans. The area had been devastated by decades of major hurricanes and was one of the poorest areas in the country. Not many people lived out here and the ones that did tended not to group up in the towns or hamlets that dotted the bayou highways.

They were sitting just east of a little town called Doumont. Doumont was like many towns in the area; a handful of government buildings, a few bars and restaurants, a tackle shop, value mart and a small school. There was some residential housing in the township’s limits, but most of the people in the parish Doumont was a part of lived either in isolated trailer parks or out in the swamps.

“Still,” Hayden said, sitting up,” we should split up to cover as much ground as we can in a day. If something is here, we don’t want to give it any more time than it’s already had to get into trouble. Far as I can see, there are three major areas to cover; North Doumont, South Doumont and the strip of businesses along the highway leading into town.”

“I’ll take the highway stretch,” Noah said. “Let you two handle Doumont.” Benjamin had been deferring to them a lot lately. It probably had something to do with Allen being made head of his unit and Hayden being refused that same official recognition. Clearly Hayden had the most experience between the three of them, but Olivia had a feeling Atticus had barred him from being given decision making power. Noah seemed to think he was being respectful, but Olivia could tell it was pissing Hayden off.

“I’ll cover the north then,” Hayden said. Doumont was cut cleanly in two by the highway and the north side held most of the municipal buildings and the town’s only two bars. This left Olivia the largely residential south. Fine by her.

“So we head out early tomorrow?” Noah said.

“Soon as the sun rises,” Olivia agreed.

“Any ideas on how to kill the rest of this lovely Louisiana day?” Hayden asked the two of them.

Olivia made sure to keep her eyes locked on his as she put in her headphones and turned up her music.